Once solitude in this treasure chest
Yet from all directions now – scathed and torn
Be it sleeve or breast, for you to rest..
I contest, where best you are worn.
Is it in the fields of ethnicity and predecessors?
Or do the lands of your birth hold the throne?
Volcanic eruptions burn victim and oppressor,
As you seek refuge… a place to call home.
I looked up to your rhythmic beat, seemingly effortless,
Yet now seems evident, you are beating yourself up,
Systems so out of sync… in need of confederates,
to churn these litres of blood, to volumes of true love.
Environments have bathed you in pollution,
Scathing and shaming you, evermore.
Insoluble problems – need more solutions,
Reckless we’d been, to strangers at our door.